


Have You No Idea That You're in Deep

by SpectacularlyIgnorant



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Top Sherlock, sex in an alley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:51:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2400851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpectacularlyIgnorant/pseuds/SpectacularlyIgnorant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's too impatient to wait until they get home. Luckily, John is accommodating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have You No Idea That You're in Deep

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this is all Arctic Monkeys' fault.

As he was often to be found, Lestrade was leaning over a body and talking incessantly about…well, he was probably talking about the method of the murder. Or his pathetic attempt at discerning it, anyway. Sherlock was patently not paying attention; what he _was_ paying attention to was stood just a little to the right of Lestrade and the unfortunate corpse. It was, of course, John, and he was shifting his weight back and forth and twisting his mouth up in that little way that showed he was trying to work something out. It was incredibly endearing, and irritatingly arousing. Not that John was doing anything erotic in its own right, it was more just his entire existence. It was the fact that he was standing there, in this shadowy park in the middle of the night, his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders broad as ever, his brow knitted beautiful in thought, living and breathing and _being_ John Watson.

“Sherlock? What do you think?” Lestrade asked, looking up at Sherlock hopefully.

Sherlock blinked at him. “No idea. Don’t care. Come on, John.” He turned to go.

John made his way off the lawn where the body lay and hurried up behind, forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Where are we going?”

“No idea. Doesn’t matter.”

Lestrade straightened up and shouted after them. “Oi! You’ve just gotten here and now you’re going to leave?”

Sherlock didn’t bother to turn around, calling over his shoulder, “You’re a detective inspector, surely you can figure it out yourself!”

John caught up to Sherlock just as he was sweeping out of the park’s front gates. “You know, I think he called you specifically because he _couldn’t_ figure it out.”

“As is such a common occurrence,” Sherlock quipped. “Perhaps their combined incompetence will eventually stumble into the answer.”

“Er, where are we going again?” John asked. They were striding down a dark and empty street now, lined with restaurants and shops that had all closed many hours before.  It was after midnight, and the only signs of life were the far-off drunken shouts and laughter of pub-goers a few streets over.

Sherlock was too distracted to bother with any further delay. He grabbed John by his jacket and pulled him into the nearest alleyway.

“What the f-“ John began, but his words were cut off when Sherlock pushed him roughly against the brick side of the building and hungrily crushed their mouths together. He thrust inside of John’s mouth with his tongue, taking him and taking from him and making him know just how necessary his existence was. Their contact was messy and needy and so long-lasting that they finally had to break apart if only for air.

Sherlock pulled away slightly, panting; he was bent down enough that his face was just centimeters away from John’s. There was a faint sharpness of brandy on John’s breath, the one he’d poured to accompany the film he’d been watching before Lestrade called them in. It had been something with spies and an incorrect grasp of physics. Sherlock hadn’t been paying attention to that, either. “I am so distracted,” he growled, his vowels rumbling and drawn out.

John didn’t seem to mind his position up against the wall. He grinned up at Sherlock. “What, by me?”

“Yes, you, you beautiful idiot.” Sherlock was speaking barely above a whisper, but the depth of his voice was powerful as it reverberated off the wall behind John’s head. Sherlock’s breaths were coming heavily, and thoughts of anything else had long flown from his mind. His attention was focused purely on John the way that it was usually devoted to following the threads of a case to its conclusion. It was an attention that was engulfing, all-encompassing, destructively indivertible.

John gasped when Sherlock pressed the length of his body into John’s and ground into him. “Jesus, Sherlock,” he managed breathily.

“I’m so fucking distracted,” Sherlock said again, this time purring the words into the side of John’s neck. Rolling his pelvis down into John’s, he bit hard at the delicate flesh near the jugular vein, enjoying the way that John dipped down slightly as his legs forgot to support him and he had to stop himself from sliding to the ground.

“Fuck,” John groaned, rolling his hips to match Sherlock’s movements.

“Only if you want to,” Sherlock murmured, biting more gently up John’s neck toward his jaw.

John’s speech centers seemed to fizzle out. “Wait- do you want…?” he barely managed to get out, his words clumsy.

Sherlock drew away from John’s jaw and kissed him again, nipping at his bottom lip and sucking his tongue hard. For good measure, he bit at the upper lip, watching with satisfaction in the low light as John’s thin mouth became the tiniest bit swollen. “To be honest,” he said, in between a series of bites on the other side of John’s neck, “I’m going to take you, very, very soon, and I don’t much care where I do it.”

John’s upward pelvic thrusts became more frantic and he threw his head back against the brick, staring up at the night sky. “Do – _fuck, Jesus, Sherlock_ – do you have….?”

Still busy marking John’s neck, Sherlock wordlessly pulled a little plastic bag out of his coat pocket that was filled with several condoms and a miniature bottle of lube.

John almost laughed. “Good thing you come prepared, love.”

“John. I am always prepared.”

John chuckled, but his smile morphed quickly into a more lustful expression. With a sudden vigor, he traveled his hands up to anchor in Sherlock’s dark head of curls, drawing him up and kissing him frantically. He tugged on Sherlock’s hair until his head fell back, exposing his throat, and John leaned up to mouth at the base of Sherlock’s neck. He spoke into his collarbones. “So help me, Sherlock, but if you’re going to fuck me in an alleyway then you’d better get to it before I realize what a bad idea this is.”

A sharp jolt shot through Sherlock from his chest to his legs, which nearly gave out for a split second. “Turn around, then,” he drawled into John’s ear.

John pulled away from Sherlock’s collarbones and turned to face the wall. He threw out his arms to brace himself against the brick. Sherlock was directly behind him and he took the opportunity to push back from the wall and grind his arse into Sherlock’s groin, which was hard and begging to be let free.

Sherlock slid John’s trousers down and then his pants, reaching around to grasp at John’s cock, which was quite firm itself. He poured lube onto one hand and brought it to John’s entrance, massaging the spot gently as he stroked John’s length with his other hand.

John focused on controlling his breathing and allowed himself to relax into the touch. He rested his forehead against the brick and closed his eyes, letting a small moan escape his lips.

Sherlock took this as an invitation to push a single, lubed finger inside. The muscle tightened involuntarily around him for a moment, but it relaxed along with John. “Alright?” Sherlock asked, trying to distract himself from the mental imagery of what would come soon; his trousers were becoming uncomfortable now.

“Yes,” John whimpered. “Oh, God, yes.” He was making unconscious little movements, pushing himself back on Sherlock’s finger in his hunger to be filled. This did little to help the lack of room in Sherlock’s trousers.

Sherlock groaned and twisted his finger to help John get accustomed to the sensation. This bit had used to take much longer, back when they were both learning from each other. Sherlock leaned into John and ground against the backs of his thighs, humming a low note into his ear.

John whimpered again and pushed harder onto Sherlock’s finger, almost fucking himself with it. “Another,” he gasped out, fingers tensing on the wall in his excited anticipation.

Sherlock obliged, pushing a second lubed finger inside of John. The sensation around his fingers was such a tantalizing preview that he felt himself grow harder. “Fuck,” he murmured into John’s ear. “I can’t wait to fuck you.” He started to move his fingers back and forth slowly, digging deeper inside of John and then almost pulling out, twisting slightly as he did so. The muscle was relaxing enough for him to be able to slip a third finger inside, and he started to fuck John with his long fingers.

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” John cried out, unable to keep his voice down. He looked behind him to see the beautiful sight of Sherlock’s long arm moving behind him, and the length of his body pressing against John. Sherlock’s pale skin stood out against the inky night sky, and the curve of his throat was so beautiful John thought he might almost cry.

Sherlock glanced up to see John looking at him. They made fierce eye contact. “I’d like very much to fuck you now,” Sherlock said softly.

“I’d like very much to be fucked by you,” John replied, turning back around to face the wall. He bent forward and spread his legs slightly, aching in anticipation.

Sherlock glided his hand across his own cock a few times, rolled on a condom, and guided himself to John’s entrance. He moved up against the ring of muscle slowly at first, and then he increased the pressure and he was moving through it, his cock sliding inside of John, disappearing into his arse, and John was letting out a long and gorgeous set of expletives.

They paused there together, unmoving and unspeaking. The sensation was too overwhelming to do anything just yet, so they simply breathed.

Then Sherlock started to move. He moved slowly at first, giving tiny little thrusts, but his self-control only extended so far. The little thrusts became longer and deeper each time, and before long he was veritably pounding into John, driving his cock as deep as it would go into John’s arse, shaking John with every thrust so that he had to brace with all his strength against the brick wall. Sherlock reached around to pump John in time with his thrusting so that they were moving together in frenzied waves, rolling and crashing into each other as they each spoke the other’s name aloud.

Sherlock had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting as he struck into John again and again. He could feel the heat rising nearly to a crescendo inside of him and he wanted to scream out at the pleasure of it, but he bit his own hand and drove his cock home one last, ground-shaking time. He swore loudly as his vision exploded into a billion crystal-clear pieces, and when he heard John’s strangled cry a moment later and felt the cum seeping into the fingers he still had wrapped around John’s cock he hit a second wave, an aftershock that left him collapsing onto John’s back and lost to the world.

They stayed like that, coming down from their orgasms and simply breathing together, for a long few moments. Sherlock pulled out of John gently and threw the condom into a conveniently nearby skip.

John turned around and Sherlock pulled him into his arms. They were still naked from the waist down and in their embrace they pressed together, the contact feeling somehow more intimate than even the sex had. Sherlock wrapped a large hand around the back of John’s head and grasped there tightly in his blonde hair. “Thank  you for existing, John Watson,” he said softly.

“I love you too, you idiot,” said John, a radiant smile spreading across his face. “You are absolutely mad. I can’t believe we just did that.”

They re-dressed themselves and slowly made their way back onto the street, hands clasped together tightly.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever look at the night sky the same again,” John admitted, his face tilted toward the heavens.

“Nor I,” Sherlock agreed, his gaze never leaving John’s face.

“Now, where might we find a cab?” John caught sight of Sherlock’s face. “Don’t even think about it. We are not having sex in a bloody cab.”

“Just the once?”

“You are insatiable.”

“And you are beautiful.”

“Idiot.”

“Idiot.”


End file.
